Time Lords with Hats 3
by Madame Seabush
Summary: The continued adventures of two Time Lords and two hats. AU. Crack.


**A/N**: Inspired by the third installment of Llamas with Hats. And thank you to Casey for making sure everything made sense :D well, as much sense as it can make.

* * *

"Master! We're supposed to be on vacation!" The Doctor exclaimed, looking amongst the war ridden city. Buildings had been destroyed, fire raged through the streets and the blistering heat swept around them with the smoky breeze.

The Master looked genuinely pleased with himself, reveling in his destruction.

"I don't know about you, but I'm having a wonderful time here," he Master revealed, a content hum escaped his throat as glassy hazel eyes absorbed the flames. The Doctor could see their reflection.

"You toppled a South American government, Master," the Doctor informed him curtly. No matter how many times the Master failed to listen to him taking the moral high ground, it never seemed to indicate to him that a change of method might be wise.

"The people have spoken." The Master extended his arms religiously outward, and admired his work from the highest point in the city. "Vive la resistance!" he called out over the ruins.

Attempting to pull the Master down from his high, the Doctor planted doubt into his achievements. "You pushed the resistance leader into a giant fan!"It was one of his less creative weapons, but it had certainly been effective.

His mood darkening, the Master furrowed his brow and narrowed his gaze. "He was a traitor and a scoundrel."

"He was trying to stop you from pushing _other_ people into a giant fan!" the Doctor stressed.

A sudden kick from somewhere in the Master's stomach caught them both off guard, and he looked down to inspect his abdomen.

"Oh… that was a foot," he said, his tone casual as he came to a rather blasé realisation, "I appear to have swallowed an entire person…" He raised his brow, somewhat surprised by the development but not entirely bothered.

It wouldn't be the first person he had swallowed whole and he had a feeling it certainly wouldn't be his last. What could he say? Humans were delicious and though they had a tendency to give him indigestion, the screaming often had a soothing effect and helped them go down much easier.

"That would be the hotel bartender…" the Doctor sighed, scrubbing his face as his stress levels and blood pressure rose. The man had been nice enough, he certainly hadn't deserved to be devoured by a psychopathic Time Lord with an appetite for destruction and, apparently, human flesh.

"Well, that explains why my Mojito is taking so long…" the Master contemplated quietly. He had been waiting quite awhile for this apparently sensational Earth drink and had hoped to receive it in a timely manner but, unfortunately, it appeared the bartender was occupied.

As he began to think about replicating the drink himself, the Doctor took the opportunity to complain to him further. "It was horrifying! Your mouth _unhinged_ like a _snake_." He could still recall with distressing vivacity and he couldn't help but grimace at the memory, his stomach turning.

"Well, that sounds pretty awesome." The Master admitted, pleased by the description and suddenly engaged in the other's words. It appeared to be becoming a habit, but he couldn't resist a good conversation about himself.

"I can't go _anywhere_ with you, Master!" The Doctor snapped suddenly and disapprovingly, though the Master detected disappointment.

"That hurt my feelings," the Master said, feigning hurt. "Now we're both in the wrong."

Ignoring the Master's efforts to inspire sympathy in him, the Doctor found himself wanting nothing more than return to the TARDIS and be far away from there. "I want to go home," he whined, "We're leaving."

"…In that case, I should probably mention I filled our luggage with orphan meat." It had been quite easy to accomplish with the giant fan; its blades had sliced through muscle and bone with startling precision and left him with a neat yet sizeable packaging mass. The resistance leader meat would be a nice addition to the symbolism he was attempting to accomplish.

"W—what!" an alarmed voice rang out, and the Master was only encouraged.

"Well, I'm building meat dragon and not just _any_ meat will do," the Master explained nonchalantly, idly wondering how long the meat could withstand the flames that were steadily devouring the city before it cooked and was rendered unusable.

…Though he supposed if it were cooked medium-rare, it would still be bloody enough to make an artistic statement.

Having had to expand his mind and desensitize himself to the horrors of the Universe in order to maintain his relationship with the Master, the Doctor found himself close to his breaking point. "You know what? Forget it. I'm not even shocked anymore!"

This caught the Master's attention and he looked on, playfully indignant. "Aw, that's no fun," he moped, but was minimally affected by the Doctors tantrum. It wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with an outburst of his and he had grown quite accustomed. Every idea was fueled by the Doctor's reaction.

"This has become the norm for you Master!" the Doctor continued, foolishly unaware that his words were having a detrimental effect.

Of course, until the Master smirked, his eyes bright and calculating. "I'll have to try harder next time," he promised.

Concern lit up the Doctor's expression, and his eyes widened at the ramifications of such a statement. "Please don't," he pleaded, hoping to bargain but sounding shamefully whiny instead.

Not that the other Time Lord was discouraged. "I feel I've been issued a challenge," the Master continued conversationally, considering his future ruse.

"_Master!_" the Doctor supplicated.

"It's too late now…! You…" Pausing momentarily, he didn't allow his eyes to give away his slip-up and he allowed the comment to fade into what he hoped was a comfortable silence. Comfortable silences often yielded no questions, but unfortunately, the Doctor's curiosity was insatiable.

"You?" the Doctor questioned, confused by the abrupt end to an often lengthy villain spiel.

"I totally don't remember your name," the other confessed, admitting to fault only because it hurt the Doctor and that was the only fault anyone should own up to.

Needless to say, the Master relished in the mixture of hurt and annoyance in the Doctor's gaze, and took the abuse that assuredly followed.

"We've known each other for over nine centuries, Master!" the Doctor reminded him, wondering how the other could possibly have to be reminded of that.

"…And what an impression you've made," the Master replied smarmily,

"_I'm the Doctor_," he grit out, irritated by the Master's behaviour. With the amount of times he'd had to introduce himself, the words tumbled out without his knowledge.

"What?" Whilst it might have been common practice for a female to work in the medical field, she seemed rather adamant on convincing him that she was a he and had been for quite some time.

"I said, I'm the Doctor!" he reiterated.

"Oh." The Master glanced away a moment before returning to meet his gaze, appearing to be sobering after the latest bout of crazy. "I thought you were a woman," he revealed, speaking in earnest.

"Why would you think _that_?" Not only had they been together for centuries, but it hadn't been centuries of abstinence between them… and he had all the right parts. What kind of women had the Master been intimate with? Had he ever been intimate with women?

The Master reasoned, and whilst there was quite a substantial list of reasons as to why he had been fooled into thinking that the Doctor was of the female persuasion, he chose the most rational two. "…Mostly the mood swings…and the hair product." He narrowed his gaze suspiciously. "… Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" the Doctor defended his gender with obstinacy, though he found himself squirming uncomfortably under the Master's scrutinous gaze only moments after.

The Master raised his brow, genuinely stunned and silence soon fell between them. It was only then, in a moment's contemplation, that he was reminded of some particularly implicating material on his laptop. "Well…if you'll excuse me… I have some pictures to delete from my computer…"


End file.
